


O Holy Night

by LogicGunn



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Bickering, First Kiss, I needed to write something cutesy after The Long Dark, M/M, Merry Christmas Everybody!, Mistletoe, My wife says this is going up too early, Radek can sing, Rodney plays the keyboard, Xmas Music, but y'all disagreed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:00:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21768763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LogicGunn/pseuds/LogicGunn
Summary: Rodney and John disagree on which is the better version of O Holy Night.
Relationships: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Comments: 14
Kudos: 52





	O Holy Night

**Author's Note:**

> O Holy Night is my ultimate Xmas song, I feel much the same way John does about it in the fic. For the record, the Home Alone version is my favourite.

Rodney bursts into John’s office with a flourish. "Did you finish the playlist?” 

Major Lorne, who was sitting across the desk and updating John on the changes in the personnel rosters, gives a casual salute and slips out the door. John rolls his eyes. 

“Hey Rodney. How are you? I’m fine, thank you. Please have a seat. Nice weather we’re having.” 

“Oh, haha, very funny Colonel. I saw you at the department head meeting three hours ago. You’re fine, I’m fine, the weather’s fine. The playlist?” Rodney holds out his hand impatiently. 

“Done.” John hands over a USB full of music. “Here you go.” 

“That’s great, thanks.” Rodney plugs the USB into his tablet. “I really appreciate you doing this, by the way. I’ve been stuck on those repairs for hours. Elizabeth would have my head if it wasn’t ready by tonight, even though I had to manually shut down the entire eastern quadrant of the city to reconfigure the- oh, no no no, this won’t do. The Home Alone version? Really?” 

“Hey! What’s wrong with the Home Alone version?” 

“Nothing, it’s just that the Celine Dion version is the quintessential O Holy Night.” 

“You’ve got to be kidding.” 

“I most certainly am not.” 

“Is this a Canadian thing?” 

“No! It’s a good taste thing! We can’t have a song from a kid's film as the grand finale. It’s got to be emotive and moving, give everyone goosebumps.” 

“Celine Dion doesn’t give me goosebumps.” 

“Take that back!” 

“Rodney, Celine Dion doesn’t give me much of anything.” 

“Philistine. Major! What do you- where did Lorne go?” 

“He’s outside the door, waiting for you to leave.” 

Rodney palms open the door. Lorne is slumped against the opposite wall looking at his tablet. When he looks up and sees Rodney and his CO staring, he snaps up into parade rest. 

“Major, get in here and tell the Colonel that he’s wrong,” barks Rodney. 

“What about, Doc?” asks Lorne as the door slides closed behind him. 

“O Holy Night. Tell him that Celine Dion’s version is better than the Home Alone one.” 

“Uh...” 

“Go on, Major, you’re allowed to disagree with your commanding officer on matters of music.” 

Lorne looks over at John, who nods his affirmation. “Actually, I really like the Katie Melua version.” 

“What?” says Rodney, clearly affronted. 

“It’s mellow and warm. Makes me think of Christmas with my parents.” 

Rodney sighs. “I should have expected as much from an artist. This isn't over Colonel.” Rodney waves his tablet and storms out, leaving John and Lorne stunned in his wake. 

“Well, sir, that was something.” 

“Yes, it was.” 

*** 

True to Rodney’s word, it isn’t over. When John saunters down to the lab to drag him to lunch he’s accosted the second he walks in the door. 

“Ah, there you are Colonel. Ready to admit you’re wrong?” 

“Nope. Home Alone has the best O Holy Night of all time.” 

“For goodness sake...” Rodney surveys the room for his minions. “Miko! Tell the Colonel he’s wrong. Celine Dion all the way.” 

“But Doctor McKay, have you heard it sung by Charlotte Church?” asks Kusanagi. 

“I don’t believe it! You’re so fired!” 

Kusanagi just shrugs and rolls her eyes and turns back to her laptop. John remembers the days when she worshipped the ground Rodney walked on and called him McKay-sama. Back then if Rodney had told her she was fired it would have ended in tears. Nowadays she ignores him completely and does her own thing her own way. John thinks Rodney respects her a lot more for it. 

“Ready for lunch?” asks John. 

Rodney grabs his jacket and gestures John to go first. “After you Colonel Uncultured.” 

"Hey! That’s a little unfair. I’m totally cultured.” 

“Sure, in the way that Genii yak yoghurt is cultured. You leave a bitter aftertaste.” 

“I’m pretty sure I taste just fine, Rodney. I’ve never had any complaints.” 

*** 

It’s pie day. Chicken-ish and sweetcorn (Rodney’s choice) or not-beef and gravy (John’s choice). 

“There’s no citrus in this, is there?” Rodney asks the mess sergeant as their food is dished up. 

“There is no citrus in anything at all, Doctor McKay,” replies the Sergeant, adding extra gravy to John’s dish. “I cooked both pie fillings myself.” Once upon a time that question would have been met with an eyeroll and barely contained amusement, but Rodney fell into anaphylactic shock one Christmas because there was undisclosed lemon zest in the mince pies, and the sight of him getting intubated on the mess hall floor was a wakeup call for everyone on the base. Now everyone takes his allergy, and his paranoia, much more seriously. 

“Good, that’s good. Thank you.” That’s another thing; Rodney’s getting along better with people these days. He’s learned that a well-timed please or thank you will get him a lot further than just a ‘Hey you’. 

They head to their usual table where Ronon is already two pies down and tucking into a third. Rodney skips the small-talk and goes straight for the kill as they sit. 

“Ronon! O Holy Night. Celine Dion or Home Alone?” 

John thinks that Ronon, who has watched home alone 27 times and counting, is a sure bet. There’s no way he’s going to pick an ageing Canadian diva over the angelic voices of the Home Alone choir. 

“Halford,” grunts Ronon around a mouthful of pie. 

“What? Is the gate malfunctioning? What does that even mean?” asks Rodney. 

“Electric guitars and drums. It’s the best.” 

“Barbaric!” 

“What is barbaric, Rodney?” asks Teyla as she sneaks up on them with her tray. She’s so light on her feet that John never hears her coming but at least he manages not to jump out of his skin this time. 

“We’re discussing the best version of O Holy Night. What do you think, Celine Dion or Home Alone?” 

“Home Alone is the Christmas movie with the young boy protecting his home from thieves?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then I would choose the Celtic Woman version. It is most harmonious.” 

“Harmonious...right.” Rodney would never actually disagree with or demean Teyla’s opinions to her face, and it amuses John to see him crumple like a house of cards under her gaze. 

“Eat your greens, Rodney. They’re good for your blood pressure.” 

Rodney gives John the evil eye, but stops shuffling his vegetables around the plate and starts eating them so John takes that as a win. 

*** 

They make it through a pre-Christmas Eve Party meeting without incident (which is miraculous considering the miniature, red-berried trees that the botany department cleared for décor turned out to be carnivorous and the spices the mess used to make not-gingerbread turned out to have hallucinogenic properties), but once everyone starts shuffling out the room, Rodney grabs Sheppard by the hand and drags him over to Elizabeth, who is still sitting at the table writing something on her tablet with a stylus. 

“Elizabeth?” 

“Yes, Rodney?” 

“I have a question. It needs a serious answer.” 

Elizabeth puts down the tablet and gives them her full attention. “What's the problem?” 

“O Holy Night. Which is better; Celine Dion or Home Alone?” 

It’s a testament to Elizabeth’s background in diplomacy that she doesn’t crack a smile, but John senses that it’s a close thing. She ponders her answer for a moment before answering “Josh Groban” with the utmost sincerity. 

Rodney splutters, unable to think of a suitably scathing comment that still affords Elizabeth the respect of her position as head of the expedition. Elizabeth smooths over the silence with a well-chosen observation. “It’s nice to see you both getting along so well.” She nods to their joined hands. Rodney looks down, stunned, and releases John’s hand immediately, but John indulges for a moment and lets his hand linger before letting go. 

“Yes, well, got to go,” says Rodney. “Things to do in the lab.” And he rushes off, elbowing people out of his way as he pushes through the bottleneck at the door. Elizabeth turns to John with a knowing smile and he feels himself blush, just a little, under her scrutiny. 

*** 

The party is underway: food is served, drink is flowing, and the tables and chairs have been pushed to the walls to make room for a dance floor. Chuck is DJ-ing the playlist that John made, carefully blending the end of each song into the beginning of the next for non-stop dancing. John has a glass of Ruus wine (just the one – he is the military commander after all) and he’s amiably flitting from group to group to show face but he’s bored out of his skull. Rodney hasn’t shown up yet despite being in charge of the preparations and spending weeks planning the thing, and it’s just not a party without Rodney commenting on how Dr. Heightmeyer’s dress is too short to be professional (it isn’t) and how Lorne and Parrish think they’re being subtle (they are) and can John please taste the little nibbly things with the coconut dusting for him cause they look suspiciously orange flavoured (they’re not). 

John makes small talk with the quartermaster and dances with Kusanagi and Teyla and Elizabeth and Cadman, but when Rodney still doesn’t turn up he decides enough is enough. He’s just heading to the transporter when he hears a commotion at the other end of the room. Some of his marines are pushing a keyboard through a door and they place it by the far wall while a group of 20 men and women, led by Zelenka, line up in formation in front of it with music sheets in their hands. Rodney comes rushing in a minute later carrying a stool which he sets up in front of the keyboard before gesturing to Chuck to cut the music. The silence grabs everyone else’s attention as Rodney manhandles the group and reorders them to his own satisfaction then sits down to play. 

John’s never heard Rodney perform but he’s wanted to since he learned that Rodney played the piano in his childhood. When Rodney’s talented hands start the intro to O Holy Night he can feel the skin prickle on the back of his neck and arms, and as the choir segues into the opening lines he feels a tightness in his chest that has nothing at all to do with the Ruus wine. Four and a half minutes of goosebumps, the whole room swaying, enraptured by the heavenly music as Radek’s Slavic Tenor rings out just above the harmony and Rodney’s hands glide over the keys in a beautifully flowing arc. 

_ ‘Fine Clinical Player’ my ass. _

Cheers erupt over the last notes of the song and the choir takes a bow in unison, Rodney ducking his head in deference to the joy in the room but looking forlornly at the keyboard in front of him. He stays sat there as Chuck restarts the playlist and the choir disperses to get some food and drink. John ambles over, still reeling from the incredible performance he just watched. He’s not religious, not really, but there’s something about that song that he finds so moving. A sense of hope and joy that impregnates each note. Rodney looks up as he approaches, fixing his face into something resembling indifference but John’s already seen it, the longing permeating his soul. 

“That was exceptional,” says John. 

“I should think so. We’ve spent the past two hours rehearsing.” 

“It was a good idea.” 

“Well, we couldn’t get a consensus on the best version so it made sense to create a new one. I think Chuck was recording it, so...” 

“We’ll know which one to pick next year.” 

Rodney smiles at that. “You really liked it that much?” 

“Rodney, it was incredible. You play so well.” 

“Oh...well, I...” 

“Really.” 

“Thanks.” 

“You wanna dance?” 

“Not really. I think I want to get some air, actually.” 

“Lead the way.” 

Rodney grabs some Ruus wine on his way past the table and shuffles out of the mess hall to a nearby balcony. It’s warm outside, too warm for Christmas, but that’s the price of living on another world in another galaxy. They lean on the railing to watch the sun dip down under the horizon. 

“Hey.” John bumps his shoulder into Rodney. “Merry Christmas Rodney.” 

“Merry Christmas John.” 

John can count on one hand the number of times Rodney has called him that and it sparks warmth in his chest and butterflies in his stomach. He looks around for something to say to that and his eyes fix on a point just above them. There’s a sprig of mistletoe hanging above them, swaying in the breeze, and... “Oh.” 

“Hmm?” asks Rodney, sipping his wine. 

“Look up.” 

“Oh. Mistletoe. That’s just-” 

“Lucky,” says John, grabbing Rodney's wine and putting it down on the railing. He moves into Rodney’s personal space and tilts Rodney’s face with his fingertips. 

“John?” 

“Yeah, buddy?” 

“I...ah...are you...?” 

“Yeah.” John leans in and presses his mouth to Rodney’s and lingers there, soft and warm, sunset flickering through his eyelids and Rodney’s breath fluttering on his face. Rodney’s hands come up and grab his shoulders through his uniform, holding on tight like he’s trying to keep John from floating away. 

“Oh, wow,” says Rodney when they part. “I didn’t know...why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Thought I just did.” 

Rodney grabs his hand and starts pulling him back inside. “Come on, we’re going to my room, right now!” 

“Woah, slow down, we’ve got all night.” 

“We’ve wasted so much time!” 

John laughs because that is such a Rodney thing to say. “I guess we have.” 

“Let’s go, chop-chop!” And as Rodney drags John through the corridors, people jump out of the way, and no one bats an eyelid when Rodney yanks John into his room, kissing him in full view of everyone in the corridor until the door snicks shut behind them.


End file.
